


Way Down We Go

by sandean_cas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 14, Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues (Supernatural), Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel in the Ma'lak Box, Castiel is Not Okay (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Says "I Love You", Dean Winchester in the Ma'lak Box, Dean Winchester is Loved, Deviates From Canon, Emotional Dean Winchester, Enochian (Supernatural), Enochian-Speaking Castiel (Supernatural), Enochian-Speaking Dean Winchester, Everything Hurts, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Kissing, M/M, Ma'lak Box (Supernatural), Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, Minor, Quote: I'll come with you (Supernatural), Quote: I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. (Supernatural), Sad, Season/Series 14, Sexual Content, The Universe Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-02-01 01:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21324898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandean_cas/pseuds/sandean_cas
Summary: How are you Dean?”“Me? I’m good Cass. Walking on water.”With pride he informs Dean that the saying is actually, “Walking on air.”A strange noise comes through the speakers then. A noise that he’d only heard a few times before: a morbid cross between a sob and a scream.“Why didn’t you call me?” the questions slips out. Sam had gotten a goodbye at least and Dean had planned to spend a few days with Mary. Did he have any time set aside for Castiel at all? “When you and your stupid plan were heading to the bottom of the ocean… you never called me.”“I was going to.” He hears how much the admission drains Dean. “I knew– I knew, only two people would be able to stop me: Sam- and you.”“I would have called you… I planned to in fact, the moment that Billie locked me in and I knew that there was no way to turn back. Then I’d call you.”“Sometimes I’d dream –” Castiel hears him struggling for breath. He imagines his friend. Alone. Drowning. Dean had told him that Michael kept him underwater while he possessed him. Now it would be the same. Dean would be drowning with Michael. Forever. “I dreamt that I’d be in the box… then my phone would die and I wouldn’t get to call you.”
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 54
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel rolls his eyes at the phone call. But internally he worries. The Winchesters had been going on hunts and he always dreaded the phone calls from them. Could Dean be injured? Had Michael escaped? He can only imagine the strain Dean’s mind must be under… holding an archangel for more than a few minutes had been troublesome even for _Sam_ who is the smartest human Castiel knows.

The fact that Dean still had the energy and will to do even mundane tasks would forever amaze him. The older Winchester had been a role mode… a guide to being human. Castiel had never doubted his choice.

“Hello, Dean.” He tries to keep his voice even, not wanting the hunter to think that Castiel has no faith in him. He does. He trusts him the most. He’d fallen for him. Castiel has no doubts that Dean would hold on long enough for him and Sam to find another way.

“Hey Cass.” The relief in his voice sends spikes of worry through his grace.

“What’s wrong?” he demands, immediately, dropping the lore book in his hands immediately.

Dean laughs and Castiel feels some of the worry dissipate. Surely if something had gone wrong… if Sam had been injured, Dean would get to the crux of the matter right away. The signal distorts and Castiel presses his ear further into the speaker, “Dean? What’s that sound?”

The silence that follows gives him ample opportunity to hear. It sounds like water… churning.

“Me and Sam just dealt with a water wraith in Colorado. We got to see the rapids dude!” Dean exclaims

A slow smile slips onto his face; Dean’s excitement is contagious. “You are allowed to have time to yourself Dean.”

Silence. Then, “Yea.”

“W-t about you Cass? Everything’s okay with you?”

“Dean?” his concern increases as he hears the rushing sounds again, muffling Dean’s words.

“Cass? Sorry the signal’s kinda scratchy down here.”

“Down here?” he parrots.

Coughing Dean forces a laugh, “Colorado, you know.”

“Colorado?” he echoes. Dean’s laughter rings out again, sounding like its reverberating. Were there caves there?

“Say that again Cass.”

He grins slightly, “What? Colorado?” Dean laughs once more, but it’s breathless.

“How are you Dean?”

“Me? I’m good Cass. Walking on water.”

With pride he informs Dean that the saying is actually, “Walking on air.”

“Right.” Dean mutters, “And the student becomes the master.”

Castiel is nowhere near the level of mastery when it comes to these earthly sayings, but he accepts the praise in stride. In the friendly silence that follows thoughts flood his head. Dean. Drowning at the bottom of the ocean. How close they’d been to losing him forever.

“We’re all working on a way to save you.” he assures, feeling the need to comfort Dean, who sounds nothing like his usual self.

“I know. And I love you for trying.”

The only possible response to this is: “I love you as well, Dean. I won’t give up. You’re too important to me.”

A strange noise comes through the speakers then. A noise that he’d only heard a few times before, never from Dean though. It’s a morbid cross between a sob and a scream. And it makes Castiel’s blood run cold.

“Why didn’t you call me?” the questions slips out. He’d spent many nights pondering it… was he not important enough. Sam had gotten a goodbye at least and Dean had planned to spend a few days with Mary. Did he have any time set aside for Castiel at all? “When you and your stupid plan were heading to the bottom of the ocean… you never called me.”

“I was going to.” He hears how much the admission drains Dean. “I knew – I knew, only two people would be able to stop me: Sam… and you.”

Castiel sucks in a short breath and clutches the phone tighter. He immediately wishes that Dean were here, if only to see his face and how his soul’s movements mirrored his words.

“I would have called you… I planned to in fact, the moment that Billie locked me in and I knew that there was no way to turn back. Then I’d call you.”

A beeping noise interrupts his thoughts and he sees Sam’s name in the call window.

“Dean. Sam is calling. Don’t hang up, I just need one second.” he rushes not wanting to stop this line of questioning. But what if Sam needs his help.

Strangely enough, it’s Dean that begs him not to go, complaining that he could lose reception at any moment. Castiel figures that he’d just call back, or wait till Sam and Dean got back to the bunker if that became the case.

“Sam. What do you need?” he winces at the shortness of his voice.

“Cass!” the younger Winchester’s shrill, panicked voice jars him into action, “Dean’s gone! Dean’s gone! And – I think he’s going to –” Realisation widens his eyes and he switches the call wordlessly. “Where are you?”

The rushing sound greets him again. This time it sounds more powerful… like the crashing waves of the ocean or the creatures that lurked beneath. And when Dean’s voice answers he hears the echoes for what they are. Reverberations from the inside of a coffin. _Dean is in the Ma’lak box._ “Dean?” he keeps his voice even, he can’t risk spooking his friend… not now

He wishes for his wings to fly to every corner of the earth in that instant. To find Dean and rip him from the ocean before – no. He can’t think of that. No.

“Sometimes I’d dream –” Castiel hears him struggling for breath. He imagines his friend. Alone. Sinking slowly, water rushing in through the cracks and Dean wondering when he’d no longer be able to breathe. Drowning. Dean had told him that Michael kept him underwater while he possessed him. Now it would be the same. Dean would be drowning with Michael. Forever. Trapped alone, at the bottom of some unreachable trench. His heart rate spikes and he has trouble even maintaining his grip on the phone. “I dreamt that I’d be in the box… then my phone would die and I wouldn’t get to call you.”

With trembling fingers Castiel manages to spread a map on the table, cataloguing the potential oceans. “Where are you?” This time his voice is unrecognisable.

Dean sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Dean where are you. I can get you out.”

A loud banging noise resonates followed by a few gasping breaths. “The water’s getting higher.” Dean’s voice is dead, relaying information like he would random facts. Michael would keep him alive. Not that it would be a good thing. He’d keep him alive for the sole purpose of tormenting him.

Tear drops beat onto the map, blurring the letters of the Caribbean Sea. “Please.”

“I couldn’t hold him.” Dean says, “I had to.”

“Just tell me where you are. When we find a way to fix this – I’ll find you. I’ll always find you.” his mouth runs away from him, “I’ll come with you… we can hold him off together.”

“I can’t do that to you. Just forget about me. Take care of Sam.”

Castiel screams with rage as the signal fluctuates, “No! I’ll look for you. I’ll look forever. And when I find you… I will strap you down in the dungeons.”

Dean remains silent. “Tell me a joke. No.” he says, changing his mind, “Tell me about something nice – that you’ve seen. You’ve been around since forever right? Tell me about the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”

No. He wants to say. He wants to scream it on repeat. But he knows Dean, how relentless he is when he sets his mind to something. Castiel will give him something to remember in the sea’s murky depths, something to give him hope, to help him hold out until they could find him. And they _would_ find him.

“It was dark and the earth burned black. Sulphur and ash clogged the air. It was rancid. Even for an angel. I wanted nothing more than to leave… but I was lost. Lost and as I thought, alone. I wasn’t alone. There was something there. Something that shouldn’t have been. It was bright and more beautiful than entering through the gates of Heaven. It was exactly what I had been looking for without even knowing it. And in its presence I felt safe and at home. I stood at the shrivelled heart of a barren horror world but I felt safe.

“When it touched my grace I knew we would be bound forever. That I would never forsake it not it me. And in the moment of our bonding, this thing – this untameable beauty shared itself with me, offering me enough energy to save me. To help me escape. It didn’t know that I would save it or kill it. But it offered a lifeline to me anyway. I could never have left it behind so flew – I raised it – with a tight grip – out of perdition. It’s light shone like a beacon the entire way up and seemed to glow brighter in encouragement whenever I seemed to falter. When we broke the surface it glowed even brighter, congratulating me and it dimmed ever so slightly upon our parting that I wanted to wrap my grace around it forever and never let it go.

“That was you Dean. The most beautiful thing I ever witnessed. It was you. It will always _be_ you.”

.

.

.

“Dean?” Castiel draws the phone away slowly staring at its black screen: _No Signal._

Maybe Dean had heard the end of his story… maybe he hadn’t. One day he would though, Castiel would ensure that Dean got to hear


	2. Free Falling

Castiel had done extensive research on the earth’s oceans. He’d searched relentlessly for the place where Dean might have chosen to –

He shakes his head. Focus. He must remain focus. It had only been days since the call but Castiel felt his friend’s loss like a barbed arrow through his heart.

Sam words along side him blissfully unaware of his plan. If one could even call it a plan. Truth be told it seems more like a disaster waiting to happen, but it will do the trick – he hopes.

“What about the Bermuda Triangle?” he asks, pointing out the area on the map for Sam. “People complain about things getting lost in there all the time. Dean and I once watched a documentary about it.” They had no other options. Billie refused every summoning method they had tried and even if she were to appear, Castiel is certain that she won’t help them.

Sam rubs at his bleary eyes, “It – it does sound like somewhere Dean would pick. But how do we know for sure?”

“We don’t.”

Sam sighs. Dean leaving had worn down on him and once again Castiel wonders if he should reveal his plan to Sam. In the long run it would help Dean… keep him alive, but in the short run… if it worked, and it would, the after effects would be atrocious. No. Sam would never agree to this.

Castiel even has a hard time coming to terms with it. He’d hated himself for even thinking it for so long. The first time Dean had wanted to leave them, he’d thought about it. But Dean had agreed to stay so he hadn’t pursued the thought any further. Even Castiel could come away from this plan driven to madness if even one thing went wrong.

…

He’d made all the preparations in secret. Usually, in the night, while Sam was asleep.

Replicating the Ma’lak Box had been fairly simple. The extra features he had added, those were harder to incorporate. Dean would need to see the box and believe it to be the exact specimen. It looks the part, he thinks. It’s bigger than the last one. He could not, for anything in the world, understand why Dean would choose to build such a small coffin to spend an eternity in.

He checks the engravings, the warding and finally the locks. Everything seems to be in order.

Once again, Castiel wishes that he had his wings.

A commercial aeroplane had been paid to drop him off at the edge of the Bermuda Triangle. He could only hope to find Dean in the melee of the ocean.

He checks his phone only to see that Sam has left him a text: ‘managed to pin Dean’s call to you.’ and a separate text with the coordinates. Castiel clenches his fingers on the phone simultaneously feeling over the moon and hating himself.

After replying to Sam’s text and telling him to fish them out as soon as possible, Castiel gets on the plane.

…

Falling is such a strange thing without one’s wings. There’s the actual fear of death and sure without his grace, his human vessel would explode on impact. The sight of the ocean rushing up to meet your face isn’t something he’d like to repeat. The piolet had equipped him with a parachute and a warning to get as far as possible before he dropped the box.

As Castiel gently floated down to the surface of the water he goes over his plan once more, steeling himself.

Dean would hate him in the aftermath.

But he can’t survive without Dean here. It’s almost an impulse – a natural reaction – to try to save him at this point.

The current wouldn’t have carried him far yet, leaving Castiel with a manageable radius within which he would search.

A large crash just to his left tells him that the box has arrived. In the clouds, he sees the plane make a U-turn, heading back to the main land. The ocean seems that much bigger, now that he’s here without a way back. It would take days and days of constant swimming to make landfall now and even then, he was likely to get turned around. 

Tethering the box to his waist he lets himself be dragged into the ocean.

…

When he sees the outline of Dean’s box Castiel is immediately invigorated and makes quick work in closing the distance between them. He snaps the locks open and Dean startles, flailing around in panic.

Right.

Dean can’t see in the darkness.

Using his grace, he creates a small bit of illumination and a small pocket of air.

Dean flops down on the ground and a few fish flounder around them.

“Dean.” He helps his friend into a sitting position, checking for any damage. It’s as he had thought, Micael’s grace had kept his skin from pruning and prevented any air bubbles in his blood.

“C-” Dean spews water, coughing violently. “Cass.” He tries again his eyes darting around, having grown accustomed to the pitch black.

“Let me take you back.” He pleads. He doesn’t want to carry though with his plan now that he sees Dean and the tole that this entire endeavour has taken on him.

“No.” his lips trembles as he says it and Castiel shuts his eyes.

“Then I’ll come with you.”

Dean stares at him a moment, genuinely considering, but then: “No. You don’t want to be trapped with me forever. The two of us would never fit anyway.”

Cass gestures to the new improved version that trails behind him and Dean notices it for the first time. “What the hell.” He mutters.

“I built it.” he says, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat, “So that we would both fit comfortably.”

Dean laughs shakily, “It looks like two hot-tubs smashed together.”

“I’m not leaving here without you.” his voice leaves no room for disagreement.

Dean gets in first, the fear in his eyes is still palpable, “I will use my grace to keep the water out.” He assures. _You won’t be drowning Dean._

Dean shudders in relief and Castiel follows him inside, lying flat against his friend’s side. He grips his arm tightly as they both get accustomed to their new situation. “Let’s close it up.” Dean says.

Castiel closes the top over his head, shifting onto his knees so that his back leaves the tiniest space open. He grips Dean’s face and looks directly into his eyes. “There’s something you need to know.” He says, heart heavy, “You need to listen to me… promise that you won’t forget this. No matter what. You can forget me. You can forget Sam. You can even forget yourself. But not this.”

Dean’s green eyes are suddenly blown wide, his breathing picks up at the dire tone of Castiel’s voice. “Bolp bliort bi-en cocasb io-iad.” He says. “Repeat it Dean.”

Dean gulps.

“Bolp bliort bi-en cocasb io-iad”

“Good.” Says Castiel again, “Bolp bliort bi-en cocasb io-iad”

“Bolp bliort bi-en cocasb io-iad” Dean echoes.

He makes Dean repeat it almost fifty times before he closes the box behind them.

“What was that?” Dean asks as they finally lie alone, the only light coming from Castiel’s grace.

“You can’t ever say it.” he says.

Dean frowns, “Why not?”

He faces Dean, keeping their gaze steady. “That’s the only thing that will open his box.”


	3. Everlasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for picking this story! Enjoy!
> 
> If anyone noticed the chapter titles are all songs, this one is everlasting by Albert Posis.
> 
> Can anyone figure out what Cass' infamous plan is? ;D

“Why would you tell me that?” Dean’s voice is breathless. He feels as though the walls are closing in, despite this coffin being larger than the last.

Castiel shrinks away from him, “I won’t let you suffer Dean. If you ever feel yourself on the brink of insanity… use it. And if you don’t, I will.”

Dean wants to rant… rage… smash something to pieces or kill a monster. But they’re at the bottom of the ocean. There’s nothing here except him and Cass. Cass who risked an eternity of torment just to stay with him. He feels his heart swell; he had been stuck in the darkness for days, months, years he couldn’t be sure. The prospect of drowning forever had him in constant distress. Worse yet, Michael wouldn’t even let him sleep.

Cass had saved him. From everlasting torture. Now they’re stuck here together.

Profound, everlasting bond. He thinks.

“So Cass…” he lets his voice become playful, letting his friend know that he appreciates the effort. “What’s next on your itinerary.”

“Hmm.” He checks something on his palm, “It seems I have one appointment with Dean Winchester. Now until forever.”

Dean smiles in relief, “Thank you.”

“I would never let you suffer.” He says sincerely.

They remain silent for some time.

It’s comfortable, companiable.

Until: “Hey Cass, if I fart right now, does that mean we’ll smell it for eternity.”

A deep chuckles comes from beside him. “Please don’t think about that.”

“How long have I been here?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

He sighs, “I mean, I don’t want you asking me the time over and over. If you want out and we get back to dry land… I’ll tell you how long it’s been.”

“Fine.”

Silence ensues once more, this time it’s tenser.

“Hey Cass?” Dean’s voice is timid. He half wants to leave his thought unfinished. But he’ll be here with Cass forever, it’s bound to come up at some point. “Do you – is it – is it mutual?”

Cass sends him a bland look.

He stumbles through his words, “I mean… do you f-feel the same. As me. About me. Us. Our bond. You know… mumbo jumbo.”

“I thought it was obvious. That I do.”

“It wasn’t obvious to me.” mumbles Dean. In an instant he’s almost thankful for the Ma’lak box. That he can talk freely with Cass, without worrying about life or what people would think. Hunters don’t…

But he isn’t a hunter.

He’s a vessel.

Trapped under the sea.

With an angel on his shoulder.

A jolt of adrenalin makes him surge forward planting a wet one on Cass’ cheek. The angel almost looks scandalised and he fingers the spot gently. “This is where humans would say ‘I’ll never wash this spot again.’”

Dean laughs, feeling slightly nervous now, “You’ll actually never wash it again.”

Cass wraps his arms around him placing a soft kiss against his collar, then his cheek, before resting their cheeks together.

“It’s funny how nice things can be when you don’t have to worry about time.” Cass muses, “We can stay here for days if we like. We have no duties, no disasters. It’s just us.”

“It’s pretty cool.” He agrees. There isn’t much else to do in a box. “You never told me the end of that story. The um water - ”

He can still feel the saltiness clawing at his throat.

“I know Dean.” Assuring him like always. “It was you. The thing… the beautiful thing that saved me from literal hell was your soul.”

“And now it’s dragged you to the bottom of the ocean.”

“I don’t mind.” And damn if his voice isn’t soft and comforting in the face of despair. “Now I get to see your soul all the time.”

Dean scoffs. “That’s boring.”

“No it isn’t.” he argues, “We’ll be here for a long time?” Dean nods, “I watched over you and Sam at the bunker. Even when you didn’t realise it… late at night while you slept.”

“I know.”

…

It’s some time later when Dean speaks again.

The spaces between words have been punctuated by kisses and soft touches. Just knowing they were in each other’s presence had been enough.

It felt like years had passed. But he couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t ask Cass.

“I read somewhere – people forget words sometimes.” His voice sounds strange to his own ears. It isn’t as he had remembered; it echoes off the box. Strangely enough he can’t even hear the sounds of the ocean anymore; it must have become white noise to him.

How long have they been here? For that to happen?

His face is pressed inches from Cass’ his ears right near the angel’s lips. “I’ve already forgotten Sammy’s voice. And sunshine and birds. What if after a few thousand years I forget everything about my life and my family? What if I go crazy and – and Michael takes over. I’ll kill you. What if he leaves me behind the wheel afterwards and I have to sit here for eternity with your corpse?”

Cass’ voice sounds strange too. But in a different way. It’s tired, fearful, frazzled. Dean realises that in a split instant: he regrets it. “You know how to get out Dean.”

Dean grips his face, as though securing it in his palms when in reality it’s probably the worst place to be. “I’ll say it.” he growls, letting anger triumph over the loss he’s already feeling. He won’t make it in here without Cass. “And then you get out and shut the door behind you.”

“Can you take it Dean?” he drones. Dean feels his uneasiness return, “Are you losing yourself?”

He shakes his head, no… not yet. “I have you.”

“I’m not leaving you in here then.”

Dean leans forward. He feels out Cass’ lips in the dimness before planting his own against them. Cass moans and laughs. It’s the first time in ages that he’s seeing a reaction of genuine happiness. He vows to do this more often – kissing Cass, talking to him – it seems to be one of the only things that makes him forget that they’re trapped in a box.


	4. What I Miss Most

For a while they’re happy. Holding each other. Touching freely, without fear of retribution.

Dean gets bolder as time passes. His soft touches turn into hair pulling and his timid cheek kisses turn into full on tongue action. It takes a while… too long, but Dean got Cass back to a point where could almost be described as happy.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes as Cass kissed him, Dean forgot that they were lost at the bottom of the ocean. He forgot that Sam could be dead or dying at any instant and he would never know. He forgot about how much he wants to scream. And in those moments, everything is perfect.

But the other moments.

Those were terrifying.

Opening his eyes to realise that Cass had turned the lights down… the fear that he had abandoned him. But Cass had stayed. He always stays.

Sometimes Dean thinks he might cry or scream. Then he remembers Cass. His friend who had abandoned everything so that he wouldn’t suffer. It would be sheer ungratefulness for him to twist and shout in their shared coffin. Sometimes when Cass was fast asleep – he sleeps often lately – Dean sobs quietly. For the life that he missed for how toxic loving him could be.

He misses the people. His things – the robe, burgers, Busty Asian Beauties and most of all, Baby.

He even misses the things that he had never even noticed while he was topside.

The smell of coffee that always permeated the bunker’s air, the way Sam’s hair would always end up in his food. _Food._

_Sam._

Dean thinks that he must still be alive.

He has to; he can’t bear the thought that he’s outlived his baby brother. He also dreads thinking of Sam. What if he had wasted his life looking for Dean? No. _No._

He wants to throw up, but there’s been nothing in his stomach for years.

He wants to scream and bang on the box. That had been his plan. At first he thought having Cass here would make things easier, but somehow they’re almost worse. He can’t let out any of the stress he feels and neither does Cass. Does he even have stress? He’s been alive for much longer than this. It’s probably just a vacation for him. He’ll probably think I’m a wimp for breaking so soon.

Yet…

The words are on the tip of his lips. It would take nothing to scream them, over and over.

_‘Bolp bliort bi-en cocasb io-iad’_

Cass had engraved them into his vocal chords for all eternity. To have a way out and never be able to use it is torture.

How long has it been?

Sometimes he finds himself mouthing them. Just to make sure he doesn’t forget.

Other times, in moments of weakness. When they had gotten into a fight he’d whisper them, with the intention of shoving Cass out and slamming the door behind him but his voice would always break on the last io-iad. Every time he said it he feels his resolve dissolving, the words are poison, eroding his will, killing any chance he has of carrying through.

Sometimes he wants to strangle the angel.

Dean is only human. Humans check the time ever two minutes when they’re bored. And Dean gets bored _really_ easily.

Cass always holds it against him though.

_Every time_ : “You know how to get out Dean.” Then “Are you losing yourself?”

_Yes, _yes he’s losing himself. Yes, he can’t remember what his brother’s voice sounds like, his mother’s… yes he can’t remember how to put an engine back together, yes he has to play off the words that he forgot, yes he finds himself wondering what his name is.

But it doesn’t _matter_.

Nothing matters.

Only Michael.

He’s been silent for most of their stay. Cass tells him that the box has a power dampener which is why he needs to sleep now.

“Dean.” Cass’ voice is more watery than the ocean surrounding them. “Please.”

Please? Please what? Dean’s too drained to ask. Instead he just squeezes his friend’s hand lovingly.

“I miss the grass.” Whimpers Cass. “Most of my time was spent looking. At the earth… since the beginning. Thousands of species were created and have died but grass was always a constant. It’s always green it’s always rich. I wonder if humans have managed to destroy such a resilient lifeform. I miss the bees and I miss heaven.”

Dean swallows his guilt. Let Cass talk, he thinks, he deserves to vent.

How long has it been?

That Cass would long for land?

Why did it have to be like this?

Why was it always them?

A sob wrenches from his chest and he tries to swallow it, only to end up choking. He has no more room inside him to hide anything anymore.

How long has it been?

Another sob bursts forth. Dean presses his fist into his mouth and turns his face away. In such a confined space, it’s about the same as flying into another galaxy. Except Cass can still hear him.

“I miss you most of all Dean.” He says, his voice is bland and emotionless, like he’s reciting a script, “I miss your joy and your energy… the fact that you never gave up. You need sun Dean… people… purpose, to truly thrive. _You’re destroying yourself._”

Dean breathes harshly, trembling from the potent shot of truth.

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care.

Only Michael.

“Dean…”

“Dean, please.”

Silence.

“No one would blame you.”

Silence.

“How long has it been?” his heart feels heavy.

He knows that Cass won’t answer. He knows that he’s probably just fuelling their greatest unresolved fight.

It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters.

Michael.

_Bolp bliort bi-en cocasb io-iad_

So close… his lips seem stuck together, his body operating on sheer will alone.

Or maybe it’s Michael.

Had he taken over while Dean was worrying about the weather on the surface? He lets out a breath… it feels like his own. But he can’t know… not for sure.

_Bolp bliort bi-en cocasb io-iad_

Cass touches his shoulder gently, breaking him out of his own mind.

“Two hundred and seventy three hundred thousand, one hundred and twenty four years have passed in this box.”

Two hundred and seventy three hundred thousand, one hundred and twenty four

Two hundred and seventy three hundred thousand, one hundred and twenty four

Two hundred and seventy three hundred thousand, one hundred and twenty four

273124

.

.

.


	5. Sincerity is Scary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Sincerity is Scary - The 1975

Castiel had forgotten.

His plan.

His purpose.

He’d forgotten almost everything except Dean.

He remembers thinking, though, that this would be easy… that… something, something would happen. That part is a blur to him. No matter how hard he thinks or meditates, his mind simply won’t co-operate.

Worst yet, he can’t remember the words. The words he had made Dean repeat so many times, never thinking that it would actually be _Castiel_ who wanted to scream them, if only to free them from the box. He berates himself for not chanting them, along with Dean.

Watching the time pass by and counting the seconds were the worst yet. Dean would sense something was off and distract him most times with kisses or stories or just a song. Dean’s singing voice was something special, and Castiel would always relish in the way that Dean let himself go, unconcerned about judgement or ridicule.

But he’d always remember.

He wonders if the continents had shifted during their tenure. Whether they were now encased in solid rock, or molten lava. He doesn’t have enough power to save them from either. Maybe the box should remain closed. What if he opened it… onto to have Dean fall into a vat of lava, burning once more for an eternity. Castiel would never forgive himself.

Angel’s aren’t supposed to forget thing. Though it may be due to the severe isolation and constant strain on his powers.

Belatedly, he wonders whether Dean still remembers the key.

Should he ask?

No.

Something tells him that Dean should be the one to use it… no matter how much he wishes to save his friend from this torment.

“I wonder when Sam died.” Dean’s voice drifts over. “If he was happy. Maybe he quit the life, settled down. I know he always wanted to.”

Castiel remains silent, unwilling to fuel Dean’s self-torture.

“I hope he was happy.”

“So do I.” he finds himself admitting anyway.

“Cass.” Dean says, “Castiel.”

They use each other’s names more often now. Dean’s way to prevent them from forgetting entirely. Castiel wonders what the point is. They’re both losing their minds… excruciatingly slowly. One day they would descend into the pits of madness, never to return again.

“Dean.” He replies in kind.

“Tell me the truth.” Dean commands, “If – do you want me to open this box?”

“Of course I do.” He says bitterly. He doesn’t understand why Dean teases him like this. He’ll never open the box. “But only if you get out with me.” he adds.

Snorting, Dean presses a hand to his cheek. “I can’t” he whispers, “And I hate having you in here with me.”

Castiel recoils.

“Not like that.” Dean explains, patting his arm in a soothing manner, “I hate that you’re suffering. I’d have gone mad long ago without you but I can’t bear seeing you like this.”

“Nor I you.”

“I love you though.” Dean offers.

Castiel feels his lips tilt up, for the first time in so long. The shy smile feels unnatural on his stiff face but it causes Dean’s soul to light up once more.

In all their time together Dean had never said the words outright. He’d always say ‘I care,’ ‘you’re family,’ ‘I need you,’ or even mouthing it against his cheek, thinking that he wouldn’t notice. Of course he would, what else is there to notice?

“I love you too Dean.” He replies in kind, savouring the sweet smile that slips onto Dean’s face.

They embrace.

They kiss. And when they kiss, it’s like nothing is wrong in their little world.

…

“Do you remember the words?” the question had been on the tip of his tongue for years.

What if, Dean had wanted to say the words all this time, but like Castiel, he’d forgotten them completely.

“Of course I remember the words Cass.”

The faintest spark of hope ignites. “Good.”

In his joy he kisses Dean. Sex was reserved for the times when Castiel had enough mojo to clean them both up after wards. They made do with the space, Dean showing him something called the ‘69’ which had been amazing. It also made for a great way to avoid spillage. Dean had taught him many things during their time, some which he hadn’t imagined he could like. But with Dean, everything felt right.

The ‘I love yous’ were still exchanged frequently. Castiel would never grow tired of hearing the words flow off Dean’s lips. The only words he could ever desire more would be Dean reciting the key.

“Why did we waste so much time when we were topside.” He wonders.

“Well, uh, I didn’t think you were interested in the first place.” Dean says, “Bigshot angel and all.”

“I thought you knew!” he rebuts, “Literally everyone we met mocked me. Balthazar even said it point blank.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “I thought he was just … teasing. Sibling rivalry.”

Castiel raises the pitch of his voice, “Let me just tease my angelic commander about being in love with the little human.”

“I’m taller than you.” is all Dean has to say.

“I’m larger than three hump back whales.”

Dean hmms. “So if one ate us, you could just… explode out of it.”

“Why would I hurt an innocent creature when I could just ask him to release us?”

“Fine. Fine. I was just being hypothetical.” Dean flicks his nose jokingly and he smiles.

Something niggles at the back of his mind though. Annoying as a mosquito or a cockroach that wouldn’t die.

“Did you ever wonder why the word ‘fluid’ is so weird?”

Laughing, Dean shakes his head, “It was never high on my priority list.”

“Fluid.” He repeats. “Lighter fluid. Fluid movements. Fluid speech.” He pauses to think. “Water is fluid. Air is fluid.”

“Time is fluid!” Dean exclaims, grinning proudly. “You said that to me once.”

He thinks hard. “Yes.” He nods, “I remember.” But he knows that he’s said it on one other occasion and that he’s forgetting something cosmically important.


	6. Alone Together

Dean runs a bold hand down Castiel’s face. The angel looks worn and ragged.

“Castiel.” He whispers, leaning in to kiss him gently.

“Dean.” He mumbles in reply, threading a hand in Dean’s hair to pull him closer. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dean smiles.

He’d never been able to say the words so frequently or effortlessly before. Before, the words would get stuck in his throat, choking him off; now they flow freely regardless of… anything. It had only taken him almost three hundred thousand years.

Cass has been beyond patient with him.

Ever since the mental break down he had the last time he’d asked Cass for the time, he’s vowed to never ask it again. In fact, even though he still wonders how long has passed from time to time, it isn’t a constant weight on his mind.

“You have no idea how much I enjoy this.” He whispers into his friend’s mouth. “Having you like this… whenever I want.”

“I enjoy this too.” he admits, “I um, never even fathomed that you and I would ever have the chance to be with each other in this capacity.”

“Mom knew.” Dean blurts.

He sees Cass cock his head slightly.

Dean presses on, “She knew that you loved me and eventually, that I loved you back.” He intertwines their fingers; because he _can_. “She might have been happy if we ever… you know.”

“How could she know that?” Castiel is almost aghast, “I – I was always very careful. To never give anything away. I thought that you would be uncomfortable with my affection.”

“For the record… well I might have been a bit uncomfortable but I would have enjoyed it.” Dean points out. He can’t have Cass floating around with him thinking that. “And um, she said it was from the moment she met you. Then after that everything that we did convinced her more and more.”

“I think I remember the appropriate expression for this.”

“What’s that Cass?”

“Big sigh.”

Dean laughs, slapping his shoulder.

“You sound like a teen.”

“Do I have to remind you how old I am?”

He scoffs, “My mistake grandma.”

“Dean.” He whispers, scandalised, “I never knew you fancied the elderly.”

“Little bastard.” Dean mumbles, kissing him anyway.

…

“Castiel.” He whispers, “Are you okay?”

Trembling violently, the angel doesn’t even turn to look at him. Dean feels his nerves increase for the first time in a long time. Tentatively, he pokes Cass’ shoulder. “Buddy?”

He laughs then. A sickly sounding thing that makes Dean’s hair stand on end.

“How can I be ‘okay’ when you sit here suffering every day for eternity?”

Dean flinches back, as though trying to avoid the barrage of memories that threaten to crash over him. “I have you.” he reminds him shakily.

“But I’m not enough am I?” he hears how taxing the confession is for his friend.

“You’re more than enough.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he rips himself out of Dean’s hold, crashing into the furthest corner of the box.

“Please.” He clenches his fists to avoid reaching out. “I don’t want things to be like this between us. I love you Cass.”

“And yet it look you hundreds of thousands of years to even tell me!”

“You know why I couldn’t.” his voice is small.

The angel sighs, hanging his head forward to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “I know.”

“I’m sorry.” Dean strokes the angel’s hair, “For everything.”

“I know.” He drones.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” he whispers, pressing kisses to each finger. Dean continues up his hand until he reaches Cass’ neck. Small moans are drawn out, echoing inside their box. Their grave. Their paradise.

“Dean.” The angel’s voice is rough and untamed.

They can be as loud as they please.

No one can hear them.

…

The sadness creeps up from time to time, dulling even the sweetest of Cass’ words. It creeps up on him today as they reminisce about the good old days.

Castiel tells him about heaven in all it’s glory and Dean in return tells him about the way he learnt to drive the Impala. They’ve run out of stories to tell a while ago. But they’ve also forgotten which stories they’ve told and which they’ve heard. Admittedly, Dean has forgotten large chunks of his life… and he’s strangely okay with that. Sometimes Cass says a word or makes a sound that triggers a memory that he thought was lost… usually he’d count that as a good day.

This time Cass says ‘pasta.’

Which leads him to think about Mac&Cheese. Which leads to Sam.

Sam is dead.

His bones have decayed to dust by now. The continents have probably shifted so much that Sam’s gravesite had scattered across the globe. Who knew. Maybe molecules of Sam were floating around just outside their little barrier. It makes him nauseous.

But there’s nothing to throw up.

And even dry heaves are unfair to Cass.

“Dean?” this time it’s Cass who approaches him with caution.

“Sorry Cass.” He mumbles, shame colouring his voice once more. “Bad day.” He should not have bad days. He’s here with his best friend… the love of his life. There should only be togetherness. What’s wrong with him?

“I hate this.” Cass hisses. “Seeing you like this. You have a way out Dean. Everyone is probably dead now. There’ll be no one left for Michael to kill.”

Silence.

“Yes there is.” He breathes, cupping Cass’ face, “He can still kill you.”

“Then so be it.”

Dean pulls away.

“How could I have let it get this bad?” he whispers to himself.

Cass was willing to die. Because he has nothing left to live for. And Dean is keeping him trapped in here like his own personal venting machine. It isn’t fair. It _isn’t love._

He told Cass that he would show him how much he loves him.

…

Dean bides his time.

Cass’ powers are draining away faster. He’s asleep. They’d kissed passionately and Dean had repeated his ‘I love you’s’ even more than usual.

He know that this is goodbye. But Cass doesn’t.

He takes one last look at the face of the angel he loves, not daring to even give a parting kiss for fear of waking him.

Dean could leave too. He’s still be with Cass. Hold off Michael as long as he could. It doesn’t have to be goodbye.

One breath.

Two.

“Bolp.”

Three.

“Bliort bi-en cocasb.” He rushes, his breathing hitching just before the last word.

Tears stream down his face. He knows in that moment that he can’t leave. He _can’t._ He has to endure this… just a little longer, until Michael’s grace finally burns out.

“Dean?”

Dean. That will be the last sound he ever hears other than his own screams.

“Io-iad.” The final word… uttered at long last.

The box cracks open and light streams in. Dean doesn’t even look as he vaults Castiel out of the box, slamming the lid shut behind him.


	7. Dazed and Confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Dazed and Confused by Ruel

Crunch!

A scream almost has him ripping the box open. Because it’s undeniable Cass’s fingers that were caught in the box. But he can’t.

So what if Cass loses a finger or two. He’s still an angel, they’ll grow back. Meanwhile, Dean could bide his time in here watching some detached fingers turn to dust. How long would that take? Ten thousand years maybe?

Cass pulls harder on the lid and Dean struggles to maintain his grip. Smooth handless wood… what the hell was he thinking. Well he certainly wasn’t thinking that he’d have to fight to stay _in_ the box.

“Dean let go.” Cass growls. Dean sees blood leaking down the sides of the box. It makes him sick.

“I can’t.” he breathes, “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly he hears a thud and he feels himself flying off the table and it’s just his luck that the box topples over propelling Dean out of it and onto the floor.

Strangely… Dean finds his feet trembling as he tries to move towards the box.

That’s right.

He hasn’t moved in hundreds of thousands of years. Even if exercise had been a priority while they were down under he’s pretty sure that neither he nor Cass would have bothered. He feels dazed, like a fish out of water as he flops around on the… concrete floor?

What happened to being at the bottom of the ocean?

The room itself looks huge, furnished… the space makes Dean dizzy like whatever the opposite of claustrophobia is.

“Dean.” Cass calls. One glance tells him that his friend is also having mobility problems. At least something is going his way.

Dean is closer. If he claws his way over fast enough there’s no way Cass can beat him. Toppling over the box in the first place seemed to have completely sapped his energy.

“Stop Dean!” the angel cries, panting, “We aren’t in the ocean. Something’s wrong. Just wait damn it!”

“I can’t Cass.” He moans, “What if whoever has us here…” he glances around the room. Bright lights that give him an instant headache and chains and weapons hanging off the walls, “If they want Michael and they’re trying to open the box… I can’t let them.”

“Okay.” Cass says seriously. “Just wait for me. I’m coming with you.”

He shakes his head sadly, “No you’re not.”

Cass grits his teeth, heaving himself forward.

“I – I opened the box because you were suffering.” Dean spits, “I won’t let you go back.”

“I was only suffering because you were.” Cass tries to reason. But Dean knows that isn’t the whole story. “Leaving me here along won’t stop my suffering. Please Dean. I love you.”

“I love you too Cass.” He says guiltily.

He isn’t doing this because he’s fed up of the angel or tied or any other excuse he’s probably coming up with right now. Dean is doing this _because_ he loves Cass.

Each ‘don’t leave me’ is like a knife and each tear that falls is salt in the wound.

He’s right, he realises in horror. He’s already at the box when Cass is still feet away.

“Bolp bliort bi-en cocas bio-iad!” the box slams shut.

Dean screams in frustration.

Banging his fist loudly on the box. He pries at the edges but it’s as though they’re welded shut.

Betrayal lights up his expression as he looks over at Castiel who watches him silently from his spot on the floor.

“I’m not sorry.” Is all he has to say for himself.

Dean doesn’t want to hear that. Right now he doesn’t want to hear a damn thing from Cass.

What he does hear though, it frightens him.

Footsteps.

Rapidly approaching.

Damn it. He’s still too weak to even find himself a weapon.

Not to mention, his memory is still shot to hell. He can’t remember how to load the cartridge.

The door is flung open with a loud bang that jars Dean. He glances at Cass and sees his expression change… it’s as though any semblance of emotion has been wiped away and he sits there in stunned silence.

Dean turns slowly, almost trembling at the type of monster that would prompt such an expression from Cass.

“Dean?” the voice calls.

Oh shit. It knows him.

He sees the man.

A tall man.

With long hair.

And the most hideous beard he’d ever seen.

“Sammy?”

But this isn’t Sam. Sam’s body was decomposing somewhere in the world. His brother probably didn’t even have a headstone.

Anger jolts him to his feet to point accusingly at the man.

“You’re not Sam.” He growls. You’re a monster.

“Wait!” the man exclaims. “Look.”

First he pulls out a flask and sprinkles some on his palm. “Christo.” He says.

Next he opens his pocket to retrieve a silver knife, slicing into his palm with a slight wince.

Dean falls backward in shock, adrenaline finally giving out. “Sam.”


	8. If They Only Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they only knew by Alfie Arcurie

“Dean!” Sam collides with him in a bruising hug.

“Cass what’s going on?”

“Ask me.” the angel drones, in a way that scares the brothers.

Dean instantly knows what he means, “How much time has passed?”

“Three hundred two thousand nine hundred and fifteen years have passed in the box.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sam reveals a crumpled piece of paper. “How much time has passed out of the box Cass?”

“Forty two hours and forty seven minutes.”

…

It comes back to him suddenly as Sam asks the question. He remembers his plan. His wretched plan. And he remembers leaving Sam that piece of paper.

“That’s impossible.” Dean whispers. “It couldn’t have been. We- we- the stories. You told me so many. That could not have been… less than two days.”

Steeling himself he faces Dean, “Every one hundred and eighteen years that elapsed translated to one minute in the real world.” Dean sags into Sam, “I’m sorry.” Castiel whispers, “That was the most I could force time to bend. It was… very taxing.”

“Very taxing my ass.” Dean growls, “Did you… concoct all of this just so – to prove me wrong.”

“Yes.” He whispers, shame coating his voice. “Dean I wasn’t thinking clearly. You – you had just called me from the bottom of the ocean. How was I – how was I supposed to cope?”

“Not that that Castiel!”

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. But it sounds hollow to his ears.

“Yeah.” Dean snorts. “You wanted to prove that I couldn’t do it. But _you_ were the one who couldn’t hack it!”

“I know. Just let me –”

“No!” Dean snaps. “I’m sick of your face. I’m sick of you. Just leave me alone.”

“Dean.”

“You’ve held me at you whimsy for hundreds of thousands of years Cass. I don’t want to see you until that amount of time has passed in the real world.”

…

When Dean awakes it’s dark. The only thing he hears is Sam’s voice as he reads some lore books quietly.

Sam.

Why is he in the box?

Fearfully, he grabs his brother’s hands. “Sam you can’t be here.”

“Dean.” He calls. “Dean. Relax.” Sam flicks on the light switch and Dean suddenly remembers where he is. When he is.

“Sammy.”

“It’s okay Dean.” His brother assures. “You’ve been through something traumatic. You need your rest.”

No. Dean doesn’t need rest. He’s been in that box for years. No. He remembers, his earlier anger crashes into him like a tsunami.

“Sam take me outside.”

“Um. Okay.” Sam offers him a weak smile while letting Dean lean most of his weight on his shoulder.

“Cass?”

“Cass…” Sam trails off. “You said you didn’t want to see him.”

“I don’t.” Dean defends. “He’s gone then?”

“Well…” Sam says carefully, “I wouldn’t exactly call it that. He’s still here. I mean – I couldn’t just cast him out in the cold. He was almost in worse condition than you. Jack is with him in his room.”

“Okay.”

Dean’s legs tremble ever other step, threatening to give out under him. But Sam is always by his side, taking his weight without complaint. After setting Dean down on a sunny patch of grass he heads back into the bunker.

Sprawling out. Dean stares up at the midday sun. He’d been in darkness for so long he’d completely forgotten what warmth feels like.

Sam re-emerges with one hand tucked behind his back. He pulls out a burger and Dean’s mouth almost drops open in delight, it smells exactly as a burger should and the meat looks perfect. Cooked, juicy … perfect. Dean is ravenous. He hasn’t eaten in hundreds… No. He hasn’t eaten in days but because Cass screwed him he feels as though it’s been years.

And worst of all. Michael is back. Pounding away. Back from an eternity watery grave only to be welcomed to the eternal migraine.

“I knew you’d want that.” Sam murmurs as Dean takes his first bite.

“Where’s the pie?” Sam’s face pales and he fumbles with his hands.

“Relax.” He says, “I’m kidding.”

“Mom’s on her way.” Sam says in reply. “She’s got pie and snacks covered.”

“I really missed you Sammy.”

“I missed you too Dean.” A comfortable silence settles between them. “Did – did you know … you lasted longer than any of us ever would.”

“But it was for nothing. And Cass kept me in there for nothing.” He barely has the energy to be angry. All he feels is defeat, disappointment and betrayal. “You know. He abused my trust and used me in the worst of ways.” Dean feels sickened at the memories of their kisses… confessions… closeness. “And it was for nothing. Cause Michael is still here and now it’s even worse.”

“How is it worse?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He pins Sam with a stare. “I thought everything in there was real. That you died and disintegrated years ago and that we were breathing your remains. He made me forget everything and myself. I can never forgive him for that. And the worst part? _I _could have lasted in there. _Cass_ couldn’t. I opened it for him! Because I couldn’t bear to see him suffering! You don’t know what it’s like to be bound to hell by your duty and to hold the key to your freedom and think about using it every single day. But now that I’m out… Sam those thousands of years were real for me… and I don’t have the will to go through it all over again.”

“I can’t even imagine how you feel right now and I won’t disrespect you experience by pretending. It must have been awful Dean but you have to know… I don’t want you to do it again. I never wanted you to in the first place.”

“I know.” He breathes. “But Michael _will_ get out.”

“You hold on for as long as you can.” Sam says fiercely. “And if he gets out then we’ll deal with it. But I have faith in you Dean, never forget that.”


	9. Hurricane Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Marc Broussard - Hurricane Heart

Waking up with light streaming on his face and Cass not next to him is jarring. Dean hates himself for his momentary bit of panic. Cass betrayed you, he reminds himself. Locked you in a box for nothing and waited till you broke.

“Hey Dean.” He glances to his side. Mom. He breathes a sigh of relief. He’d missed her. For the second time in his life, he thought he’d lost her forever.

“Mom.”

She gestures to the parcel in her lap. “I didn’t forget the pie.”

Well, Dean had.

After sharing an entire pie with mom for breakfast, Dean heads to the kitchen to whip up his second favourite dish. Bacon.

But someone else is there.

Jack.

“Hello.” He says cheerily, doing that one handed wave.

“Hey kid.” Dean greets him. “Want some bacon.”

“It seems to make _you_ happy. So, yes.”

“Alright-y then.” He heats up the pan trying to ignore Jack’s incessant stare.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” he repeats in a harsher tone. Dean is not in the mood for this yoyo act they’re doing.

“I was… wondering…”

“As you often do.” Dean mutters.

“Whether Castiel would like some bacon too.” pipes up.

Dean’s hand stalls.

“Ah… Castiel.” His voice is hard. “I don’t believe he will.”

“Are you mad at him?” asks Jack after a beat.

His hand tightens around the handle. “Of course I am… and feel free to tell him that.”

“But he’s very sick.” Jack protests. “You two –” he breaks off, his eyes darting away. “When one of you is unwell, the presence of the other one always seems to change that. It’s like you’re each other’s medicine. Though I’ve heard that medicine is bad tasting. But you guys can be each other’s good tasting medicine.” Jack then beams proudly at Dean. Usually, that’d wrench at least a smile from him. But this time, any mention of Cass is definitely not medicine. It’s poison.

“I think we’ve past our expiry date. Three hundred thousand years in a box will do that.”

“He _is_ sorry.” Jack whispers.

And Dean wants to believe that. He does. But his mind can’t comprehend the words ‘sorry’ and ‘Cass’ in the same sentence.

“Can you stop talking about him!” he barks.

“Okay.” Jacks says, “But… you have to know… I brought him back for you.”

Dean always thought he’d done it as a fluke. That – that he’d done it for himself. But this – this – this changes nothing, he reminds himself firmly. Cass still duped him. He stares at the bacon, sizzling away. Cass kept this from him, and, if Dean hadn’t gotten himself out Cass would have let it go on for … eternity.

“Are you better?” Jack asks, changing tack.

…

Castiel is thankful for the noise and that Jack seems to take comfort in having a rotating nightlight. If it weren’t for those things he would have sworn that he was in the box again. His first instinct upon opening his eyes, was to search for Dean. Jack insisted that he stay in bed though, volunteering to be the one to search for Dean.

He’s been gone awhile and in that time, Castiel has drifted in and out of consciousness quite a few times. He kind of prefers unconsciousness at that point because it’s the only time he doesn’t feel the crushing guilt of knowing what he did to Dean.

The mental fortitude needed to survive for that long (even in perceived time) was monumental. Castiel hadn’t even been as strong as Dean. His will and mind abandoned him long before Dean’s had. Sure, Dean also suffered, but he was always present mentally. Castiel, he’d chickened out. Swamped with guilt but wanting to be there for Dean emotionally led him to supressing his memories. So much so that he’d forgotten his entire plan and their only way out. That he will never forgive himself for.

And by the looks of it, Dean will never forgive him either.

Worst of all… Castiel might have actually _preferred_ being in the box with Dean. As vile as it may sound. Dean was open with him, sincere, caring, in ways that he never was. And it makes him a horrible friend. Which he is.

Dean probably thinks that ever spec of emotion was expressed falsely. That Castiel tricked him into the box to manipulate him into being dependent on him. That isn’t true. But he won’t get the chance to explain it to Dean. His heart is heavy with the weight and merit of Dean’s accusations. Rightful accusations but they hurt nonetheless.

If only he could talk to Dean.

But he knows better than to go see him right now. He needs his family. Sam and Mary, who Castiel had denied him for so long.

“Cass?” Jack’s voice sounds tentative.

“Did you see Dean?” he asks, pushing himself upright.

“Um, yes.” Jacks says. “In the kitchen making bacon.” He holds out a piece of bacon, wrapped in a napkin. “This is for you.”

Carefully, Castiel takes the piece of bacon. “Dean sent this for me?”

Jack bites his lip and the illusion is broken. “Um… I – I wouldn’t say that exactly. But I think that when he’s better he’ll regret not giving it to you. So I’m doing it on his behalf.”

He sighs, resting the meat on the table. “Thank you Jack. I appreciate it. Though, Dean is sick because of something I did.”

“Then it’s your job to make him feel better.” Jack deduces. “It’s like I told Dean. You are each other’s medicine. Make him feel better.”

“Jack.” He sighs again. “I know you mean well, but, as much as I wish to believe that that is true… I know it isn’t. Not anymore. What Dean needs to feel better is space.”

Even though it wrecks him inside to even admit that, Castiel knows that it’s the right thing… for Dean, who had been wronged for so long and left to pick up the pieces.


	10. Close To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Close To Me – Ellie Goulding 

Dean can’t sleep. His body feels like it’s been sleeping for many years. More importantly, Michael is taking advantage of his weakness; pounding without abandon against the door. Each strike rattles Dean. He can’t move. He can’t sleep. He can’t risk letting his guard down for even a second.

And whose fault is that? Why Cass, of course.

Grabbing his anger by the neck, he uses it as a barrier between him and Michael. It works. His head hurts less and his teeth aren’t constantly grinding together. Dean wilts in relief.

He doesn’t want to sit here, guarding an angel in his weakening mind. He wants to enjoy his time with mom and Sam and Jack before he has to go again. The very thought makes him tremble. But he has to. For real this time.

But he can’t even spend time with them when ever step means exertion when every bout of laughter means he loses one more strand of control.

So Dean has to suffer, because of a person who he called his friend.

He can’t believe that he sent Jack to try to manipulate him too! Where does it end? Next he’ll try sending Sam. Or mom. Dean scowls. He’d just about explode if that happened. The fact that the kid snatched some of his bacon doesn’t help any.

Someone knocks on his door and he groans. It reminds him of Michael.

“Who is it?” he demands, not bothering to keep the bite out of his voice. He just wants a moment of silence.

Michael slams into the door again.

“It’s Sam.”

“Just come in and get whatever it is you need to tell me over with.”

Sam steps in carefully. “I’m not here to lecture you Dean. You’re entitled to how you feel right now. I just wanted to see how you were doing. If you need anything.”

He manages a small smile. “Thanks Sammy.” He nibbles on his lip. “It’s not great. Michael is using this against me. He’s banging up a storm.”

Nodding, Sam seems lost in thought, “Everyone I have is looking. All the hunters. Mom. Jack. Me.” he glares at Dean with steely determination. “We will find something.”

And if you don’t? But he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. He doesn’t want to break his brother’s spirit any more than he already has. So he just nods and tries to make himself believe his next words: “I know you will.”

…

“Castiel.” Castiel snaps awake, stiffening instantly.

Dean’s voice is like the metal of an angel blade. Strong, uncompromising and deadly to him. He sees him standing near the foot of his bed, directly in line with the open door. He notices Castiel’s stare and sneers, jerking his chin at the door. “I considered closing it to give us privacy, but then you might trap me in here for a few million years, so I thought I’d be on the safe side.”

“I deserve that.” He whispers, looking away in shame. He knows; but it doesn’t stop the hurt.

“Dean… I – I am so sorry.”

Dean laughs. “No. You aren’t.”

He shakes his head in denial. “No. I _am_ sorry Dean. I – know – I know I have no right to excuses but-’

“Shut up!” Dean barks. Castiel shrinks back. “You’re right. You have no right to even _think_ of an excuse after what you’ve done to me.” The hurt and utter betrayal in Dean’s voice guts him, but it’s the look in his eyes that strikes the killing blow; it’s a look of utter dissonance. Dean doesn’t care what he has to say because Dean can never trust him.

They remain silent. Locked in a battle of wills; Castiel looks away first. As he should; he knows that he’s the one in the wrong here. He won’t fight that.

“You tricked me, Castiel.” Castiel trembles at the use of his full name. “I should put a blade through you.” he glances up at Dean who scowls down at him. “I hate you! You tricked me in the worst of ways. You m-made me do thing say t-things – that – that I - ” Dean turns his back to him. “You were never my friend.”

He opens his mouth to reject that. To tell Dean that he was always his friend. Someone who loves him.

“Don’t speak.” Dean says slowly. “Just tell me why you did it. No bullshit excuses. No meaningless apologies. Why? Castiel, why?”

Staring at Dean, he sees the hurt wrought by his actions. He was selfish. Foolish. And now Dean is paying. But he deserves an answer. If only to achieve some peace with the situation.

“I did it to show you what it was like in the box. That you could never last as long as needed.” He breathes. Dean’s breath hitches. “I stayed so that I could use the phrase and free you. But you lasted longer than I could ever have. I told Sam to expect us in two to six hours. But you lasted… and lasted… and I, in my selfishness, forgot the code. I thought I was helping you Dean.” He pleads with his eyes for Dean to see the truth; to yell and rage but tell him that he needs some time. Time for them to get back to normal. Time for Dean to forgive him.

“You thought-” Dean breaks off, his eyes swirling with emotion. Then he laughs. Followed by more silence. “You’re dead to me.”

Dean turns to go; clearly fed up with everything, but in his anger his foot catches on the edge of the blanket and Dean slips, crashing to the floor with a clatter. He can already feel the blood dripping into his eye.

Castiel rushes over almost knocking him back down with his enthusiasm. Dean snarls. “Do not touch me. Do not help me… your help is equivalent to enacting a death sentence.”

He gulps down his tears as Dean shoves him away, walking out of the room with his head held high and his arms clasped together loftily.


	11. The Spaces Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some recreational and medicinal(? idk) drug use

Castiel is still barely able to get off of his bed.

Castiel wants to believe that Dean might forgive him one day. But he doesn't think that that is very likely. Dean's words ring through his head like a chime. Loud and incessant in a way that gives him a constant migraine.

It's annoying how weak a simple task like that had made him. It's not very special but the emotional strain alone had been exhausted.

It changed him

And it definitely changed Dean.

'You're dead to me.' Words that shook him to his core. 'You're Dead to me ' words worse than Cass could even imagine. Worse than death, worse than the Empty. Because he could escape those things. But Dean's hatred... his hatred is far reaching and stubborn.

It's the simple things he does that shows he doesn't care. Like not making extra coffee for Castiel any more. Or speaking as though he isn't there. The most hurtful change though is the use of his real name.

Calling him Castiel instead of Cass is Dean's way of showing him he doesn't care.

Where Dean once stood by his side for thousands of years, he now sticks to his brother like glue, disregarding everyone else completely. Maybe the fact that Dean is obtuse with everyone that leaves him with the tiniest speck of hope.

Besides Sam, everyone is held at arms-length… Mary, Jack. Dean passes them by with barely a glance now. He can tell it takes a toll on them. Mary most of all. Jack is still getting used to humans and doesn’t really understands Dean’s emotions. While they might confuse him to some extent, Castiel doesn’t believe that they cause the boy any pain. Mary, on the other hand, is a wreck. Though in the short time she’s been with adult Dean, there have been conflicts, there’s never been a time when Dean treated her like this. Cold. Silent. Detached. Almost predatory at times.

And it’s Castiel’s fault. He knows it, Dean knows it, Sam knows and by the looks Mary gives him as he passes her in the hall… she definitely knows, and is willing to hold it against her.

“I wish I could fix this Jack.” He whispers, staring down at the blankets.

“Then fix it.” Jack replies simply.

“It’s not that easy Jack.” He confides, “There’s things to consider. Human emotions first and foremost.” He sighs. And Dean’s emotions are more delicate than the average human’s. It takes less to set him off and more to reel him back in.

“Dean loves you.” Jack points out.

“He loved me when I was the only thing left.”

He tears his eyes away from the blankets to stare at Jack, who stares back at him with this look of confusion.

“No.” he says carefully, as though testing the frailty of Castiel’s own emotions. “He’s always loved you. At least, as long as I’ve known him.”

“But Jack… what I did… it was unforgivable.” And there it is. The truth.

“But…” Jack seems almost distraught. “True love is supposed to fix everything. What about the fairy tales?” he demands. “What about Snow White and – and Rapunzel?”

Castiel lets Jack rant, letting out his frustration.

“Snow White’s prince released her from the coffin.” He says, keeping his voice emotionless. “I kept Dean locked in his.”

“I can talk to him for you.” Jack offers.

“No. I think I should-” his voice cracks. “I think that I should remove myself from Dean’s life.”

“Cass. No.” Jack’s eyes are blown wide, concern clouding his features.

“Jack-”

Jack cuts him off instantly, “No you can’t. You owe it to yourself – to _Dean_ – to leave things in a better state that you found them. He’s struggling too Cass. Sometimes I think you forget. But Dean is struggling and seeing you abandon him won’t do him any good.”

…

That’s how Cass finds himself alone in the kitchen, waiting for Dean to come for some beer. Castiel is positive the Dean doesn’t have any stashed away.

Dean enters, walking past him as though he doesn’t exist.

“Dean – I –”

“Silence.” Dean says. He doesn’t shout or raise his voice, but the command is clear and Castiel is helpless against it. Castiel backs down instantly, as though it would short circuit his programming to do otherwise. He’s forced to watch numbly as Dean exits the room with a bottle of red wine in his left hand.

…

Dean enjoys spending time alone. He’s found the perfect way to keep Michael at bay. To stop the pounding in his head.

Herbs.

Or as it’s more commonly known; marijuana.

Sam, of all people, had been the one to suggest it. They tried a small dose at first, using a vaporiser – vape as the kids call it – to minimise the smoke inhalation and some other nasty stuff Sam mentioned from getting into his blood stream. At first, Dean had been pretty resistant but it seems, even a small dose, jumbles his brain enough that even Michael is confused.

He and Sam still keep it to themselves, opting not to tell their band of happy campers that daddy’s smoking the grass. He isn’t sure how mom would react. He isn’t sure Jack would even understand what he’s talking about. And Cass…

It’s pretty nice being high all the time.

Thinking about Cass doesn’t bother him.

No banging. No Cass. He should have started this years ago.

The song ‘walking on sunshine,’ comes to mind when he thinks about his life right now. It’s just an endless stream of pie, Sam and memory foam.

He hasn’t spoken to Cass in days. He hasn’t seen him or heard from him… Dean is half sure that he’s left the bunker.

But that doesn’t matter, he’s got a fancy new coping mechanism… better than beer, better than sex… welcome to the world of weed.


	12. Subtle

Castiel feels himself landslide into depression as Dean slowly becomes less _Dean._

It’s the little things he does – or doesn’t do – that just break his heart.

Like the way he seems to avoid beer like the plague, instead choosing the comfort of wine. He lets the Impala degrade, so much so that Sam had grown concerned. And in addition to treating everyone like strangers, Castiel had spotted him in his room on more than one occasion… _meditating. _Crossed legged on the bed with his thumb and fore fingers pressed together with his elbow balanced on his knee.

Castiel had expected Dean to be doing any number of things, movies, porn, music, sleeping the day away. But this… this had been unexpected.

He wants to try talking to Dean again but Castiel is too scared after the last time. He never thought that Dean would grow to hate him this way. He never thought that he be scared to even _talk _ to his best friend.

It’s Jack, who forces him to suck up his pride and talk to Dean.

He knocks on the door to his room and he hears no sound in reply. When he cracks the door open, Dean is sitting on his bed, his eyes pinned to the door like a predator.

“Castiel.”

He shudders at the power and disgust in his tone.

“Dean.” He says carefully. “Do you want me to leave?”

That wasn’t what he came here to ask, but it tumbles out of his mouth nonetheless. He can only be so selfish before needing to put his best friend first.

“I don’t care if you stay… or if you go.” And by the airy quality of Dean’s voice, he really doesn’t care.

…

“Sam?” His voice is scratchy as he faces the other Winchester. Sam hasn’t come around much since Dean started acting like this.

Even now, his gaze is wary as he waves Castiel into his room. He doesn’t bother sitting on the bed like Sam offered, he just gets straight to the point.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes.” Except the voice isn’t Sam’s.. it’s Mary’s.

Sam presses his lips together but remains silent.

“How could you have done this to Dean?” she demands. “He made you out to be some kind of saviour and this is what you turn around and do!”

She lets out a harsh breath, using one hand to brush through her soft hair.

“What you did… was incredibly selfish and I think that Dean needs some time without you before he can even think about seeing you again. In his mind you guys were together twenty-four seven, three six five.”

He doesn’t dispute what she says, he only turns to Sam. “Do you feel the same?”

Sam hooks a hand over the back of his chair and seems to really consider this.

“If it were me…” Sam says. “I would want you to go.”

Shoulders dropping, he moves to exit. He’ll have to explain it to Jack, let him know that it’s okay if he wants to stay at the bunker and that they would still be able to meet up all the time.

Sam’s next words halt him. “But Dean isn’t me.”

“Sam, what are you doing?” Mary says.

“Dean is my big brother. I’ve known him forever.” Sam says with conviction. “I know about the bond you two have. And I know how deep it runs…” he gives Cass a pointed look. “For both of you.”

The implication of Sam’s words knocks the air out of his lungs.

His next words are whispered. “I hope I’m making the right choice.” Then louder, more confident. “If you leave him now, Dean will never forgive you.”

…

Dean lies sprawled out on his bed. His mind of completely fogged over. The ceiling looks like cotton candy and lollipops – like that Katy Perry video.

Living life high is a special kind of feeling.

Trippy.

But fine.

Sam is mellower now. Dean’s half convinced that he’s smoking the stuff. And Cass… well, Cass is nowhere in sight, which is a blessing that is not disguised in anyway.

But even though Cass isn’t there to torment him physically, he’s still there in his dreams. Dean had never been so turned off by a sex dream in his life. He woke up shaking and hard, but feeling dirty and used.

But other than this one time only hiccup, things have been going swimmingly.

He’s alone a lot, but he finds the solitude kind of nice. And it’s not like he’s completely isolated from the world. Sam comes to visit and Jack always finds the time to sneak into his room and ask him the most perplexing questions.

Why is it always about an animal or cloud? Why can’t it be about something he actually knows? Like loading a gun?

Kids.

…

Castiel swallows as Sam leads the charge to Dean’s room.

Dean is on his bed, in almost the exact position as before. His eyes are closed and they don’t open upon their arrival.

“Greeting.” He says coldly.

“Dean.” Sam says, walking over to him. “We don’t want to force you into anything, but I just want to let you know. Cass isn’t leaving. You don’t have to worry about that. None of us are leaving.”

“That’s adorable.” Dean says in the same tone.

Sam frowns and leans in to look at Dean’s hair.

“Is that hair gel?”

Now that he thinks about it, Dean’s hair _is_ slicked back. Another discord with is usual persona.

His heart stutters.

He remembers in his bedroom.

_“You thought-” Dean breaks off, his eyes swirling with emotion. Then he laughs. Followed by more silence. “You’re dead to me.”_

_Dean turns to go; clearly fed up with everything, but in his anger his foot catches on the edge of the blanket and Dean slips, crashing to the floor with a clatter. He can already feel the blood dripping into his eye._

The wine, the aloof tone, the hair, the lack of beer. The way he walks and talks, the way his back is always straight.

Dean fell.

Dean hit his head.

Dean isn’t sitting on that bed.

He reaches forward to yank Sam back by the arm. He stumbles and glances at Castiel in confusion.

“Michael.” He snarls.

Michael stands and bows dramatically with a sickly smile on Dean's face. "Took you all long enough... it's not like I was being subtle."


	13. Ahimsa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Ahimsa - U2, A.R Rahman

Dean slides down the hall in his slippers falling on his ass just before he hits the wall and the phone beside it.

“Woah!” he straightens his robe to stop his junk from hanging out. He half wishes that he has a room full of chicks to see than, rather than a wall and maybe his brother and mother. Being a bachelor was supposed to be fun.

His mind is still foggy as hell but for some reason he doesn’t care. He thought that he’d feel more vulnerable like this. He even has some pretty intricate hallucinations.

Right now, he’s seeing Cass waving to him like some sort of broken chicken with his elbows and knees all over the place. Earlier, it had been Cass singing the song from Full House ‘Wake Up San Francisco.’

Before that, it had been Cass and Sam chanting ‘come in big momma,’ and wearing an Elvis get up.

He wants to laugh every time he sees them. Cause they’re just so freaky and so _freaking_ funny.

Like who does the mamba while saying ‘Dean focus, Dean wake up, Dean he’s using you.’?

Yeah, good timing Sam, he figured out that Cass was using him weeks. If they were still in the box it might as well have been a millions years ago.

…

Castiel, Sam and Mary scream themselves hoarse trying to get through to Dean. Michael just sits on the bed, in his calmly meditative pose eyeing their efforts with extreme amusement.

“He won’t hear you. You know that right?” Michael asks briskly, “Not in the condition I have him in.”

Castiel freezes in fear.

No.

He remembers the look on Dean’s face when he told him what Michael did to him. Drowning him endlessly. He presumes that’s why Dean though it suitable payback to drown Michael for an eternity.

“He’s higher than a – what do the kids say? – higher than a kite.” He snaps his fingers sucking the air out of the room. Sam fails, clutching the door and Mary grabs her throat. This even doesn’t seem to amuse Michael for long because he lets up soon and chuckles.

“Dean-o has his head stuck in the clouds.”

That’s almost worse.

Everyone knows of Dean’s fear of heights. That they made him nauseous and panicked and unsteady. Even the short trips they took when Castiel had his wings had taken their tole on him.

How long had Dean been falling?

“Michael… please don’t do this to him?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Michael asks with a level of intrigue.

“Don’t let him fall.” Is all Castiel can manage.

Again. Michael laughs. A sadistic sounding cackle.

“Oh he isn’t falling Castiel…” says Michael. “He’s floating… drifting on the oh so sweet, addictive and intoxicating influence of…” Michael claps twice seeming proud of himself. “Marijuana!”

“You gave Dean drugs.”

“Well… technically Sam did. And he takes a little of the top.” He glances over to Sam. “Stingy boy.”

Michael laughs at their stunned expressions. “Now, I didn’t do this all just for kicks and giggles. The thing is, my poor, paranoid vessel Dean has a habit of trying to kick me or trap me. I find it easier to reign him in when he can believe any of the alterations to his world. Boy, some of the hallucinations you three have given him. You should be happy for him. Let him escape your toxic hold and live a little. Dean is _thriving_ in here. He’s happy. No one betrays him.” he looks at Castiel. “No one leaves him.” he smirks at Mary. “And no one… is there for him to take care of and die for.” He stares at Sam.

It takes Sam a moment to collect himself, but when he does, his voice is strong and certain. “He would want us to save him, from _your toxic hold._ Dean doesn’t just check out. And we all know, if he knew what was happening, he’d shove you right back in that closet.”

“But he doesn’t know.” Says Michael. “And he _will_ never know. Because you… _Sammy.”_ Dean’s pet name sounds blasphemous on Michael’s lips. “gave him something to take away the pain.”

Sam’s face is stricken. But the way Michael smirks at Castiel tells him that there’s more to come.

…

Dean lies on his bed with his head near the headboard and Sam’s sock covered feet rest near his head. A position they’ve both grown accustomed to. Thankfully Sam showered just a few minutes ago, so he doesn’t have to deal with the stench of his lettuce infested toe-jam.

It also helps that they’re both high as a kite… or a jet. Whichever is higher. Dean’s not sure which one that is at the moment.

Sam laughs breathily at his side. “Dean we should have done this years ago.”

“I know right.” He laughs in return, “It would make repressing all those disgusting emotions that much easier.”

“Gotta say man.” Sam exhales, folding his hands behind his head. “This is more relaxing than sex.”

Dean sticks his head up. “What the hell kind of sex are you having Sammy?”

Like he should even talk. His last experience with sex was in a box, upside down with a male angel. Or a celestial being of intentness in a male body.

Raunchy stuff.

All of a sudden a bright light breaks through their relaxation. At first he thinks that it’s another version of Cass in with a might glowing halo. The he realises what he’s seeing. He almost kicks Sam in the face at the sight… and oh how his brother’s bloody nose would be worth it for this sight.

He grins and sits back giggling, trying to point out the never to be seen phenomenon to Sam who remains – as he is in most things – completely and utterly oblivious.

But Dean can see it – he can hear it – the raucous yet soothing sound of:

_The sun rising…._

_In his bedroom._


	14. Drowning

Michael sits cross-legged on Dean’s bed and Castiel feels his skin crawl at the sight. They should have seen it sooner, but Michael must have been masking his grace.

“What do you want?” Castiel demands.

“Do you think it’s that easy, Castiel?” Michael hums. “You ask and I just tell you my entire plan?”

He glances over to Sam, hoping he knows what to do.

“You’re going to kill us then?” Sam asks, his hands twitching at his side, ready to reach for a weapon, even though nothing they have will put a dent in Michael.

“Not if you leave me alone,” Michael says.

“What about Dean?” Sam demands, a determined edge in his voice. “I’m not leaving him to suffer.”

“Suffering… is overrated,” Michael says evenly, though the sinister expression in his eyes tells them that there’s more to it. “Now, don’t get me wrong, Dean’s suffering was superb; some of my finest work. But it made him rowdy. Privy to my every move. I don’t have time to swat flies away so I’ve tried a new tack. Something a bit unorthodox that I think you all will appreciate – you in particular Castiel.”

This can’t be good.

Sam senses it too and he takes a step away from the intruder.

Michael licks at his lips, a menacing smile slipping easily onto Dean’s features. “He’s… happy.  Obliviously so. No supernatural. No pesky siblings to take care of. It’s all Dean, all the time. ”

Sam glares before turning to leave, Cass and Mary follow suit.  As the y exit Dean’s room , Castiel can **feel** the frustration rolling off of Sam in waves. It’s no surprise when he slams Castiel against the wall, pressing a rough arm against his neck .

“Why’d you do it?” Sam snarls. His eyes are wide and panicked. Castiel understands… even shares his wrath. “Why’d you have to wear him down just to prove some stupid point ? We. Would. Have. Found. Another. Way.”  H e hisses through clenched teeth.

All  Cass can do is helplessly stare back. He doesn’t have a good answer for Sam. Nothing he says will change things, so he keeps quiet. If Sam wants to vent, Castiel will let him vent. If Sam decides that he can’t stand another second in his presence, Castiel will let him do as he sees fit.

“Answer me!” Sam’s grip tightens. “I want to know what the hell possessed you to do this to my brother!”

When Castiel remains in shocked silence, Sam rattles him, tugging hard enough that he feels the seams of  his coat strain. “Answer me , Cass… if you love him, why would you willingly do this to him?”

“I-I don’t know.”  H e breathes at last, shame coating his voice. “It was just like… my mind was against it but my body just couldn’t stop going through the motions. Somewhere, some part of me thought that locking him away like that would actually save him.”

“But then , you let him out ? ” Sam breathes in confusion. From behind his shoulder , Sam sees Mary mirror his disbelief.

“I-I don’t understand it , Sam. I just know in the moments before we  leaped out, that I’d never felt as lucid in my life.”

“So that’s what you’re sticking with?” Sam’s voice is like lead, capable of dragging him to the bottom of the ocean. “This tordid … out of body experience story? Where you lock Dean away without knowing what you’re doing and then felt sorry for him and came to your senses?”

“Yes.”

…

The screaming is thunderous in his ears, even past his earplugs. Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You ready, San Francisco?!” he screams into the microphone.

The crowd screams their response.  **“** ** Io-iad!”  **

Dean grins and glances back to his band,  _Shut Your Pie-Holes!_

This is his favorite part, being on stage with a crowd chanting his name, begging for an encore. It makes all those nights alone, wracking his brain to find the right lyrics and putting up with Hollywood bureaucracy worth it. Maybe he likes it because it makes him feel less alone, more part of a community.

Or many he just likes the flashy lights and the all-night raves.

His life is a party and he can’t bring himself to get tired of it. As his assistant, Charlie, says, the limelight suits him.

“Alright, you guys!” he shouts after his last set. The crowd is hushed, all fifty thousand of them hanging on his every word. “This next one is special. I thought of the lyrics and wrote them all in a single night.”

As expected, he is bombarded with noises of disbelief.

“I know. I know.” He says, placating. “You guys don’t believe me but I don’t know if you guys believe in reincarnation?”

The crowd is of a mixed response; some groaning but others nodding.

“I don’t know if I do either. But it’s like this song came from a memory… a pretty horrific memory, as you’ll see.” It was the most vivid dream he ever had. Dean takes a moment, blowing out a breath, and preparing himself for the notes. He’s wondering if he should even sing this. It’s personal… singing it feels like betraying some part of himself. He usually doesn’t express his emotions like this; so publicly. But his manager, Lisa heard him trying out the tunes and insisted that they squeeze it in tonight. Something about appealing to the crowd’s sensitive side.

He can roll with that. Even if  he  feels as shy as a six - year - old.

The crowd cheers again, their voices blending together to sound almost lyrical. Their cries are exactly what he needs to get him out of his shell.

** “Bolp bliort.” **

Gathering his bravado , he speaks into the microphone. “This is called ‘Drowning.’” He says as the band starts to play the first set of chords.

_ “Hooold the day…” _

In his dream, it felt like he was in a constant state of darkness. Trapped by the sound of rushing water, dragging him under and drowning him. It was chaotic, everything was pushed away.

It felt chilling and isolated, yet so real.

Sometimes he feels like that in real life. Maybe it’s his fear of crowds. Sometimes his throat feels tight like he’s choking on something invisible, trying to shout words in a tongue that he doesn’t even know… but that would be crazy.

…

Castiel is collecting all the resources they can from the bunker. The idea is to trap Michael, retreat, and bide their time – hopefully finding a way to save Dean.

The trunk of the Impala is filled. He begins utilizing the back seats; there only needs to be room for three anyway.

When he places the last box onto Baby’s seats, he can’t help but think about how Dean would hate this. The boxes pressing on  her leather seats, scuffing the fabric.

Castiel shudders.

This is his fault. Dean could have held on for ages. Castiel had screwed him totally. He doesn’t even remember coming up with that cursed plan. It must have been the adrenaline , m aking his actions rash and uncalculated.

Despite the risk, he wants to see Dean before they leave  Michael and him trapped inside the bunker.  Maybe he can say something that triggers a memory… something  that shows Dean whatever he’s seeing isn’t real.

Pushing Dean’s door open, Cass finds  Michael still sits atop Dean’s bed, calmly meditating.

“Hello, Castiel.”

Castiel doesn’t reply.

“I figured it out, you know?” Michael’s tone sends dread rocketing down his spine. “It was simple… yet trapped under layers. I think my unearthing woke Dean.”

His hopes rise. Michael’s cockiness might be his undoing.

“Don’t fret,” Michael says sternly. “I lulled him to sleep again.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Earlier, Michael was obsessed with ‘not revealing his master plan.’

“Because it doesn’t matter. I know what I need and now , nothing can stop me.”

“That’s bold.”

“Don’t you want to know what I found?” Michael taunts.

Castiel doesn’t deign a reply to that.

“You forgot something,” Michael says. “In the Ma’lak box. I think I’ll open it up and show you.”

“Bolp bliort bi-en cocasb io-iad.” Michael hisses.

Castiel stares at him a moment, then bursts into laughter. “You – you can’t use the password to open the box from the outside!”

“I know,” Michael says smoothly, unperturbed by Castiel’s mocking. “But I sucked up my ego and prayed… so that wh o you left inside  the box can use it.”

That’s when Castiel feels it.

_ Him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while... but I planned out the rest of this work at long last. So expect more frequent updates.
> 
> Who do you think the mysterious 'him' is?


	15. Devil In The Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [shipperofdarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipperofdarkness/profile) for beta reading this chapter!

Dean stares down at his hands. They haven’t stopped trembling since the concert. The crowd’s cheers did something to rile him up big time. So he does what he always does when he’s amped-up, he pops on his headphones and settles into his memory foam mattress.

“You remember me, don’t you, Baby?” He croons, stroking the material.

Hmm… Baby.

The thought niggles at his mind.

He doesn’t have any kids so that’s weird. Maybe he’s at that point in his life where he _thinks_ he needs to settle down?

He considers that for a minute.

Nah, he’s not ready for that yet. Being cheered on by thousands of people isn’t something he’s ready to give up… yet.

He scrolls through his playlist, clicking the first song that catches his eye.

‘_Lay Me Down_’ floods through his speakers.

In the back of his mind, he remembers having someone who lied by his side. It’s so fuzzy that the memory slips away easily.

When the song ends, he glances down at the screen and presses replay. Something about the name of the singer catches his eye.

Sam Smith.

Sam.

There’s something about that name that’s inherently familiar.

Sam.

_Sam._

** _Sammy!_ **

** _…_ **

Sam insists on evacuating the bunker. Despite Michael being so placid, they can’t risk him snapping and killing everyone in the room. Only Sam, Mary, and Cass remain. Bobby is herding the other hunters to a safe house. At least he doesn’t have to worry about getting them killed.

Michael is a ticking time bomb and they need to find a way to lock him in the bunker before he finally comes to his senses and starts pillaging. Sam likes to attribute Michael’s current inactivity to Dean somehow stopping him. It’s a pipe dream and he knows it, but the thought is the only thing giving him the will to go forward.

It’s a constant cycle. A mantra. The only functions able to run in his mind:

Trap Michael.

Save Dean.

He currently has Cass lugging as many angel lore books as he can into the Impala. If they do manage to confine Michael, it won’t be for long… and they definitely won’t be able to stay.

Mom is helping him sift through the lore. It’s slim pickings for spells strong enough to affect an archangel. So far, they found three options but all required obscure ingredients that they’d never be able to procure.

A loud explosion on the surface startles them out of their research.

Instantly, their weapons are drawn and they’re on their feet. The only person who should be outside is Cass, but Michael might have suddenly decided he likes to destroy again. Either way, they need to get to Baby. She’s the quickest way out of here. Cass had already carted most of their resources into her trunk and backseats. They can just abandon the rest if push comes to shove.

What greets him at the entrance is horrifying. Baby is on fire.

Burning leather wafts through the air. Smoke streams through the missing roof, which looks like it was blown off by a grenade.

Sam faintly registers his mother’s gasp as he feels a sinking sense of loss. This car is his brother’s prized possession; his child in a sense. Dean takes her out on joy rides and polishes her to his heart’s content. A profound feeling of heartbreak settles into his body. It feels painful like all his bones are being broken along with his heart. He can’t help the feeling that this is just the first of many losses.

Sam’s eyes water but isn’t due to the fumes. Cars can be replaced, he knows that, but it’s the symbolism of it that bothers him.

To lose Baby – Dean’s pride and joy seems like the prequel to losing Dean for good.

And in the wreckage, stands a burning figure.

Cass.

His trench coat is engulfed in flames. His silhouette is shrouded in the dark vapor but Sam would recognize him anywhere. That is until he looks up.

Bright, red eyes gleam at him and as he makes his way out of the smoke, a smile spreads across his face. “Sam,” he says in a gruff voice.

It isn’t Cass. He’s heard that intonation before. The mocking nature of his voice...

“Lucifer.” He breathes, taking a shocked step back. Mom’s grip slackens on his arm. She immediately reaches for her weapon… and honestly, Sam should be doing the same just for the sake of it. But he knows that wielding any weapon besides an archangel blade is pointless.

“You’re getting better at this, buddy.” He says smugly.

No. No. No.

Cass wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare say ‘yes’ again. Not now when they need him the most. Sam shakes his head in disbelief.

“How?”

“Think about it, Sammy.” He says, still using Cass’ voice. “When Auntie Amara threw me out onto the streets, that was not my vessel casting me out.”

Sam’s eyes widen. It was the same as what Michael had done to Dean.

“Left a crack open,” Lucifer elaborates. “Took a beat to power back up after… well, you know. Then, I just shimmied in when no one was looking.”

Sam’s head spins as he realizes a multitude of things all at once. Cass had said it before. His mind and body had been at war. Cass hadn’t done this to Dean. He was just a puppet, being manipulated by something evil. Lucifer must have been seriously drained after his confrontation with Michael. He must have been lying dormant inside Cass, leeching off of his grace and waiting for the right moment to strike. Staying silent while trapped in the Ma’lak box must have been torture for someone like him.

“You made Cass trick Dean,” he hisses. Mom’s head turns and she stares at him as though he just said the most outlandish thing. But it makes sense; Cass hasn’t been acting like ‘Cass’ for some time. Sam had just been too preoccupied to see Lucifer’s influence.

Lucifer just shrugs. By now, Cass’ coat has stopped burning, except for a few embers. Lucifer sheds it, tossing it into the burning car. Sam flinches.

“Castiel was so… uptight.” Lucifer cracks his back. “Oh yeah! That loosened me up.”

His eyes flash as he focuses on Sam and Mary once more. “Of course I did you, idiot. Did you _really_ think that a broken angel-like Castiel could bend time like that and for so long? Without me, he’d be a steaming pile of embers in that box. His wings painting a nice pattern for Dean to stare at for eternity.”

Sam feels nauseous at the imagery. It’s partly his own fault, for being so accepting, for not questioning Cass’ plan -_Lucifer’s plan_.

This is all his fault. Now, Lucifer is going to kill them and get on with whatever he and Michael have planned.

Not only has he lost Dean but he’s also lost Cass… and he never even noticed it.


	16. Cold Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [shipperofdarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipperofdarkness/profile) for beta reading this chapter!

Every morning, he walks into the coffee shop near the crossroads and settles into the window booth. This morning is no different. It’s been two weeks now since he’s been coming here. The first time was purely an accident.

_Castiel’s car had shut down on the highway in the middle of a snowstorm. Desperate for any modicum of warmth, he had decided to brave the night._

_They say the cold makes you do strange things. And Castiel was a prime example of that. After stumbling around aimlessly in the freezing cold, he almost thought the little coffee shop was a mirage._

_The ‘Don’t Cry, We Have Pie Sign’ was powered off and the inside looked desolate. Without a second thought, he shattered the front window, causing it to rain down on the owner who’d decided to hunker down inside._

_But he hadn’t known that at the time._

_Despite breaking the glass and letting in the cold air, the building itself was warm. His fingers had trembled as he’d tried to operate the coffee machine._

_“Hold it.” That voice somehow managed to cut through the onset of his hypothermia._

_Castiel froze and stared back at the burly man holding up a scary-looking knife._

_“Please.” He had said quickly. “I- I was just so cold.”_

_“Who are you?” The man barked, slowly inching closer._

_“I-I’m Castiel.” He says, his voice quivered weakly._

_The man scoffs. “Well, ain’t you an angel.” His glare was venomous. “Get the hell outta here.”_

_“I’m just c-c-cold.” Castiel’s teeth chattered._

_“Yeah?” The man said dryly. “You broke my window and now I’m freezing too. So thanks for that, Castiel.”_

_“My car shut down a few miles from here.” Castiel had whimpered._

_With a tired sigh, the man rubbed a hand down his face. “I expect you to pay me back for the damage.”_

_Nodding eagerly, Castiel assured him that with his teaching salary, he could easily cover it._

_He could practically see pity softening the man’s face. Melting his scowl like ice in the sun._

_“Come on.” He said, dropping the knife. “The kitchen is sealed. I’ll make something to eat.”_

_“What’s your name?” Castiel wonders balefully as he steps into the immaculate kitchen._

_“Dean,” says the man, turning slightly to shoot him a wink. “Winchester. And this is my coffee shop: ‘Vintage Delights.’”_

_That had been one of the most memorable nights of his life. That was the night he fell in love with Dean Winchester._

Castiel shuts his book with a snap. Not like he was reading it anyway. His gaze is, as always, glued to the sexy barista with the soulful green eyes. He’s ashamed to admit that he’s spent a huge chunk of his salary in this place.

Castiel feels himself freeze. _Oh God, he’s walking towards him._ The fight to act natural begins. For the first time in his life, he finds himself worrying about his bedhead and the state of his suit. Dean is always here, which is why he comes in every day, but the man rarely hand delivers his order.

“Blueberry muffin,” Dean says, resting the fluffy delight on his table.

He expects Dean to simply nod and move along like he usually does on the rare occasion that he delivers an order to a customer himself. Instead, he perches on the seat across from him and watches him intently as he takes a tentative bite.

Before he even has a chance to chew, Dean is on him. “What do you think?”

“It’s delicious, Dean. Your baker is very talented.”

Dean practically beams at him.

“You should try my pie,” Dean says with a wink that makes his knees weak.

“Tomorrow, perhaps,” Castiel says, trying to sound confident.

“I’ll make you a special one,” Dean promises.

Now that has his brows. “You’d do that?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe.”

It makes his heart flutter to know that Dean would bake a pie just for him, the random stranger who broke his window and tried to steal his coffee. But in all fairness, Castiel had never felt happier to spend three hundred dollars on a pane of glass.

Spending that night together had changed them both. In the coldness of the storm, they’d managed to develop a bond, despite the knife, threats, and vandalism. Despite the fact that they’re both from wildly different worlds, Castiel can feel just how _profound_ their bond is.

…

Sam barely has a chance to bemoan what that they’ve lost. Baby… _Most_ of the lore.

In a flash, Lucifer flies them back into the bunker, into Dean’s room. Sam wants to believe that this is all a hallucination, but the smell of burning leather stays with him, reminds him of just how royally he’s screwed up.

Dean -Michael’s eyes- are still closed on the bed. But he hums in satisfaction as Lucifer dumps them on the floor.

“Took you long enough.” He snaps, glaring petulantly at Michael.

“Dean Winchester’s mind is a fickle thing,” he says evenly, slowly uncrossing his legs. It’s strange to see Dean’s body move like this. In almost choreographed steps, each one deliberate. Dean’s movements are usually free, his hands doing whatever they want, his posture bad. Michael is the definition of prim and proper.

“Finding what I needed was harder than I anticipated.”

Lucifer scowls. “Ugh. Let’s just get this over with so I can stab you in the face.”

Michael’s glare is sinister. “Maybe I’ll make you stab yourself in the face. That would certainly be interesting.”

Seeing Michael and Lucifer interact in Dean and Cass’ bodies is a whole new level of weird. Dean and Cass always orbited each other but never like this. Never so calculated and predatory.

“Oh what fun we have planned for you.” Lucifer booms, clapping his hands together with glee. “I missed you a lot, Sam.” He takes a step closer, reaching out to touch the hunter’s face.

A blinding flash of light interrupts him. Sam blinks the brightness away to find the archangels have disappeared.

At his side, Mom pants, pressing her bleeding hand to her knee. “Come on, this won’t keep them away long.” The vanishing symbol still sizzles on the floor.

Sam stands on shaky feet and stumbles along as Mom drags him towards the garage. In his grief about Baby, Sam forgot that they have other cars.

At least one of them has their heads on straight.


	17. Same Old War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [shipperofdarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipperofdarkness/profile) for beta reading this chapter!
> 
> Song: Same Old War by Our Last Night

It would be a lie to say that he didn’t rush out of his house and head straight for ‘Vintage Delights.’ Worse yet is that he forgot his clothes. But by the time he realized, he was already getting strange looks from the other customers. Running back home to change clothes would be mortifying. Especially if Dean had already spotted him.

So he tries to temper his flush as he slides into the window booth. This café is mostly frequented by people on their way to work in the city. Mostly everyone wears professional clothes or at the very least, some jeans. Coming here in pajama bottoms and a robe is definitely not normal – especially for him.

His flush increases as Dean comes into view, a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of treats balanced in one hand. Dean’s eyes go comically wide as he lays eyes on him, the tray shifting in his grip. “Uh… heya, Cass?”

Dean’s reaction only increases his mortification.

“Nice hot dog pants.” The man comments, placing the coffee on his table.

“I just–”

Holding up a hand, Dean stops him in his tracks. “No need to explain. You’re allowed a lazy day.” Then, he leans a little closer and whispers. “I was starting to think you _slept_ in those suits, good to know I was wrong.” With a wink, he turns around and walks away, placing the plate with the pastries on another table.

Castiel smiles down into his coffee, enjoying the warmth of it on his hands.

There are about a dozen tiny marshmallows in the shape of a smiley face.

The sound of glass knocking against wood disrupts his admiring.

Castiel looks up to find Dean sitting across from him, two slices of apple pie resting in the space between them.

Reaching over the table, Dean places a fork in his hand. Their fingers brush for one tantalizing moment. Dean’s expression falters and Castiel thinks that maybe he felt it too.

But then it’s back; the cheeky smirk and the twinkle in his eye. “Love me some pie.” He says, stabbing the perfectly crunchy crust with his own fork.

With a tentative grin, Castiel takes his first bite. Dean even stops chewing to watch his expression carefully. But it’s _amazing_. Perfection with every bite.

“I love it.” He groans, his voice garbled from his full mouth.

The compliment makes Dean preen, his ears flushing a light pink.

“This is absolutely scrumptious, Dean.” Castiel praises as he takes another bite.

“Thanks,” Dean says, having another forkful of pie.

They eat in silence for a while, just soaking in the other’s presence.

Unable to help himself, Castiel takes little peeks of Dean as he eats. It’s clear that he enjoys the pie as well, though it’s impossible not to.

The entire experience is overwhelming. Being this close to Dean, watching his mouth move as he chews his pie – the _noises_ he makes.

Dear God, the noises will kill him. Moans mixed in with little hums of appreciation drive him crazy.

Dean keeps up a steady stream of conversation, nothing unusual. He talks about the people coming in, what they usually order, his favorite items to make. He even comments on Castiel’s hair, telling him that bedhead suits him and blatantly asking if he had sex last night.

That one causes coffee to spurt out his nose. As he splutters an indignant ‘no,’ Dean leans forward to slap him harshly on the back.

“You gonna make it, buddy?” Dean asks teasingly when Castiel begins to calm down.

“Why would you ask that?” The words leave his mouth without much thought.

Dean just shrugs. It’s supposed to be nonchalant, but Castiel can make out the stiffness in his shoulders.

“Just wanted to know.” He murmurs.

“Oh,” Castiel whispers. “No.”

When Dean looks up at him next, his eyes are hooded. “That’s good.”

Cue the confusion. “I don’t understand.”

And of course, because the universe hates him, someone calls Dean’s name. He gives Castiel an apologetic smile before placing the bill on the table.

“Come back later.” He says cryptically. “And I’ll show you why it’s so good.”

The coffee shop will be closed by the time he’s done with work, Dean knows that.

He glances down at the total, hoping he has enough cash – explaining to Dean why he has no money would be humiliating. Something catches his eye, a blue scrawl on the otherwise monotone paper.

It’s an address and a time.

_Dean’s_ home address.

…

Sam curls into himself in the passenger seat. This car feels cold and devoid. It’s not Baby, the car they grew up in, the one that Dean adores, their _home_. Sam squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think about a time when things were better. When Dean was here, by his side, ready to face all of heaven and hell with him.

Mom is here, which is a great relief. She’s managed to keep it together while Sam’s fallen apart. She packed the remaining, unscorched lore into the trunk. She thought about food, about getting off the grid. 

Even now, she’s driving them to safety while Sam is near comatose, mind crumbling under the strain of today.

The sense of loss clings to his bones, despite all they have left.

Losing Dean to Michael the first time was crippling enough, to do it again, to know that he failed him again, is debilitating.

And Cass, he thinks bitterly, Sam hadn’t been there for him at all.

Now they’re both under the control of archangels who are intent on destroying each other.

Sam has to save them like they always save him. But first, he needs to find a way to pick himself up. His mind and body ache terribly. He simply doesn’t have the will to carry on.

He just hopes that Michael and Lucifer don’t torture Dean and Cass too much in the meantime.


	18. Castle on the Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [shipperofdarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipperofdarkness/profile) for beta reading this chapter!

The bushes slap against his skin, sometimes pricking his flesh or flashing dangerously close to his eyes. He keeps running though, he has no choice. If he doesn’t run, then the wolves will catch him. And they’ll rip his skin more than branches ever could.

His feet crunch loudly against the foliage and his breaths are harsh against the silence of the night. But that doesn’t matter. The wolves have his scent. And they look rabid. The pack would easily devour him in minutes. It would be a slow, painful death. That pushes himself to move faster. He desperately tries not to trip in the pitch black as it will only slow himself down. He can hear them gaining on him. Howling, their feet pattering against the ground.

Dean refuses to give them the satisfaction of eating him alive.

He sees something off in the distance. Up on the nearest hill. It’s almost like a castle. Old and dilapidated. Distracted by the thought of a safe place, he trips, flying into the dirt. Immediately, he hops back up, sparing no thoughts on the cuts along his arms or the wetness dripping down his left shoulder.

The castle grows closer with every step… but so do the wolves.

Dean can see them now; shadows, clinging to the trees, crashing through at an astounding rate and slowly narrowing in on him.

It’s an uphill battle – literally.

The hill is steep and unforgiving. Life here seems to have grown out of control. There’s a silence that fills this part of the forest. It is deafening. Dean can’t hear the wolves anymore. Their thumping paws are gone. He can’t even hear any insects here.

He slows to a halt and surveys the landscape around him. Everything surrounding the castle seems dead and wilted.

The wolves were afraid of coming here. That alone sends chills down his spine. What could scare them so badly they’d abandon their hunt?

This place reeks of death. From the skeletal branches surrounding the rickety gate to the deafening silence of a place devoid of any life. Dean doesn't even see an ant.

The stone path is almost covered in dirt but he can just make it out. Slowly, he makes his way over to the main building. The feeling of being completely alone has him on edge. He could die… freeze to death or be eaten and not a soul would know. But he doesn't want a soul to know where he is. It's better that way.

At the door, he pauses in indecision. Something tells him he shouldn’t go in.

But one glance below tells him that he can’t go back into the unforgiving forest either. He’s exhausted and needs rest. He’ll die down there – either from the wolves or the cold. The frost is starting to settle; Dean needs to make a decision and fast.

An enclosed area away from the main building catches his eye. It will be nowhere near as warm, but it will have to be enough.

His hand slides off the door handle and he slowly makes his way over, hating how every movement he makes echoes eerily.

Dean steps inside… and what he sees shocks him.

While the exterior is dead, inside everything is blooming and red.

Entranced, Dean reaches forward, caressing the dewy petals of the reddest rose he’s ever seen.

It feels pleasantly cool, and soft. The room is filled with them, all red and rosy, standing out starkly against the green leaves. He can’t understand why the red-eyed wolves were so afraid. Maybe the land is cursed?

As he walks through the rows of immaculate flowers, he becomes lost in them, letting his mind wander away from his previous panic. His bones are still chilled, and his arms and knees ache from his fall. Yet he feels overwhelmingly safe here.

Dean lays his weary head on the floor, plucking the nearest rose and cradling it to his chest.  His fatigue leaves him utterly blind to the figure cloaked in red, who watches him from within the flower beds.

…

Sam sighs deeply, resting his head on his arm as yet another solution proves impossible.

The feeling of defeat seems to push him closer to the table. He wants to let it crush him, but he knows if he does, Dean and Cass will be lost forever.

It's only been three days but every block makes it feel longer. He's always had Dean by his side to push him through the bad. And when he hadn't, he’d hooked up with a demon and gotten hooked on her blood.

Seeing the news doesn't help either. Reports of mass murders, the victims' eyes all burnt out. Or the spate of plagues that spread across the country.

Michael and Lucifer may want their grand battle, but they seem determined to stir up some trouble. Will it work? Will they be able to draw Chuck back?

More importantly, will he care?

Or will the archangels fight in earnest, killing Dean and Cass with them?

There's still time. They're obviously just warming up and that can work in Sam's favor.

The problem is none of his plans are working.

Even mom is starting to get antsy as the destruction continues. There's no way he can ask the otherworld hunters to risk their lives without at least a viable plan, though many have offered.

He has no bait. He has nothing they want.

Sam's eyes widen as the idea takes shape.

What if…

Could he?

It's possible given their history.

This could stop the fighting. It's the only thing Michael and Lucifer both want and the only thing powerful enough to stop them. If he'll listen, that is.

Sam shuts his eyes, and prays to Chuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments! Rest assured that this fic will be completed. I'm just having a hard time since my laptop gave up on me. Hope you enjoy!


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